Terror at the 20 Yard Line
by Shirley Ann Burton
Summary: A high school football star is paralyzed in a freak accident on the football field. Not only does he have to deal with his abusive father, but also a ghost who died on the same field four years earlier. Inspired by true life events.
1. Part 1

Terror at the 20-Yard Line   
By: Shirley Ann Burton

  


  


**The Important Disclaimer:**   
** This story is an original, but it is based upon the series _The Nightmare Room_ by R. L. Stine. All characters in this story are original, so if you want to use any of them in the future, please e-mail me first. It has been highly inspired by the courageous story of Penn State football player Adam Taliaferro.******

**Part 1**

"Man, I am so psyched about Friday night!" I yelled to my best friend and fellow teammate on the football team.   
"Me, too, Josh," he said happily. "It's the homecoming game, and it's against our rivals from Bannister High."   
I couldn't help being so excited about the game coming up between the Hawkinsdale Hawks and the Bannister Bears. I loved playing football so much, but deep in my heart, I knew it _wasn't_ what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.   
Unfortunately, my father believed I should do nothing except playing football all the time, even when the season was long over. I wanted to go out and play with my friends during the summer, but Dad would drive me to the football field to make me "improve" on my skills as a player. It was becoming very embarrassing for me because I couldn't spend the time with my best friends. Of course, it was a good thing some of those best friends of mine were on the football team, so it really helped me a lot.   
I took a sip of my milkshake and then looked at Billy Wilder. "Billy, do you think…I need to stop playing football?"   
"Now why would you say that, Josh?" he asked in surprise.   
"Well, think about it. Dad seems to be more interested in me playing football than anything else. I love football, I always have. It seems Dad only wants me to do it forever or something."   
"Josh Mitchell," Billy noted seriously, "your father is a retired pro player. He just wants you to follow in his footsteps, that's all."   
"Maybe I don't want to, though. I just want to be able to be happy for myself at times. I want to do well and play for the fun of it, not for a chance at a pro career. I mean, what if I get seriously injured and can never play again? What then?"   
"I dunno what to tell ya. I'll tell you one of the creepy things about this game. It's being played on the 4th anniversary of the death of that player who died on the field, Halloween night."   
"Aw, so it's on Halloween. I'm not going to let that scare me outta playing the game. After all, this could be the game that could help us get to the playoffs." I took another slurp of chocolate milkshake.   
Billy agreed with me. "Yeah. We're still undefeated right now, and this game Friday night will clinch our playoff berth for sure."   
Suddenly, a loud male voice said, "Josh! What are you doing here!? You're supposed to be practicing for the game on Friday night!"   
My face suddenly went down as the people in the restaurant went silent. I was feeling very embarrassed. _Dad, why do you have to yell!? I just don't want to concentrate too much on the game._   
My father was Jake Mitchell, a former pro player. He was at the peak of his football career when Mom suddenly died as a result of brain cancer. He decided to retire immediately to spend more time with me. However, he signed me up for football from the get-go. I couldn't get out of playing football, even if I _wanted_ to. Believe me, it was very hard to live with Dad because I wondered if he really cared about me or desperately wanted me to follow in his footsteps to a professional career.   
"Josh, you need to be at the football field, not here stuffing your face with a milkshake! You know that's not a part of your diet."   
"Dad, I have a load of homework tonight. I can't go to the field."   
"You come up with every miserable excuse to get out of your necessary practice!"   
"Look, Dad. My studies _have_ to go first, not football. In case you forgot, the school board policy states that if I don't maintain at least a C average in my classes, I get thrown off the team. I'm sorry, Dad, but I am _not_ practicing tonight. The team practice is tomorrow afternoon, and even then, Coach Simpkins won't let us practice for too long if we're bogged down with homework."   
Dad gave me a seriously mean look. "Josh, I want you to have a professional football career. Isn't that what you want?"   
"It's what _you_ want, not what _I_ want. I love to play football, but I don't need to do it for my entire life."   
"You will _not_ say that to me, young man!" yelled Dad. "You _will_ be a football player, understand!?" He then grabbed me by the jacket and dragged me out of the restaurant to the car.   
"Wait a sec, Dad, I need to get my books."   
"You don't need your stupid books! You need your practice!"   
I slipped out of my jacket and ran back into the restaurant to grab my books from school in order for me to do my homework.   
When I got the books and ran back to the door, Dad basically gave me a slap in the face. "Do that to me again, and you're going to be in major trouble! Now _get_ to the car before I really get mad!"   
I went out to the old Saab car and got in the passenger side. I grumbled angrily because again, Dad totally made me feel very small.   
The drive home was very quiet, as I looked out the window.   
Dad tried to start up another conversation. "I can't understand you, son. All I want you to do is be able to play football and be like me."   
I continued being silent.   
"Josh, are you listening to me!?"   
"Huh?" I said, snapping back into reality. "What'd you say?"   
"You lousy excuse…you'll never be a superstar if you keep up this stupid attitude. You think homework is so important to you, but it doesn't help on the field."   
"You don't understand, Dad. If I can't get a football scholarship, my studies will help me get a scholarship altogether. There's more to life than football and—"   
"No! There is _nothing_ more important than football, Josh! I will _make_ you understand that!" He continued driving the car home with an angry look on his face. 

As soon as we got home, I ran up to my room and locked the door so I could get started on my homework for the evening. "Maybe now I can get this done. Let's see, I'll start with some algebra for now, and then go to grammar next."   
Coach Simpkins made certain that all of use maintained our averages at school. He made it a rule that if any of us had too much homework, we had permission to practice for only an hour. If it had to do with term papers or essays, though, he would allow us not to practice at all. That really helped me a lot, since I was carrying an A average since my freshman year. Basically, I was nicknamed "Josh the Jock Nerd," which was actually a compliment to me, being a good student and a good football player. Knowing the junior year of high school would be one of the hardest, I wouldn't dare take my chances and allow my grades to suffer because of playing football. Now, if only Dad could have seen that…   
"Okay, the assignment was to find the derivatives for all these formulas." I started looking at the formulas to make sure I knew what I was doing to complete the algebra. I knew the grammar homework was vital because the day of the Homecoming game, I had an important grammar test, so I didn't want to miss anything.   
Unfortunately, Dad knocked loudly on the door, causing my pencil to stream off the paper. "What is it, Dad?" I yelled while feeling very annoyed.   
"Stop your homework, young man! We're getting to the field, now!"   
"For the last time, I have too much homework tonight! I don't have time to practice today!"   
Dad then blasted through the door with his foot and had the face of an angry grizzly bear. He then grabbed me by the shirt and pinned me against the wall. "You _will_ do as I say, Josh! You won't be a football player if you don't get the practice!"   
"Coach canceled practice for today because almost everyone had too much homework. Homework before football, remember?"   
"I don't care! He's a weakling as a coach! He needs to push his players harder than what he's been doing! You are the star cornerback, and I'm going to see to it that you get the necessary practice, whether Simpkins likes it or not! Now move it!"   
After he finally let me go, I gave my father an angry look and said, "Fine! I'll go, but it's totally under protest!"   
"We'll see about that, young man," said Dad. "You'll feel a lot better with two hours of practice!"   
"What!? Dad, I have a grammar test in two days! I can't leave that behind! One hour!"   
"Two hours or else!"   
"An hour-and-a-half!" I demanded. "I am _not_ going to fail that test on Friday!"   
"That test is _not_ important! Two hours, no exceptions or compromises!"   
"You listen, Dad! That test is Friday, and I am going to take it and get an A, whether you like it or not!"   
He then took out his belt and slashed me on the back. "There will be _no_ further backtalk! You are going to be a star football player in the pros, not a teacher! Do I make myself clear!?" After ten slashes, he grabbed me and pulled me to the car so I could get to the field, much to my disliking.   
On the way there, I noticed my friends were walking home from the restaurant. I sighed and put my head down in shame. _Why do I have to be the son of a pro football player!? I could do things more rewarding than football. I can't even get a word in edgewise to say how I feel._   
When we arrived at the football field, Dad got out of the car while I tried to stay put and stand my ground. He looked at me and yelled, "Get out of the car, Josh! Now! Practice makes perfect, and you'll be perfect at that game on Friday night. Now out!"   
I shook my head. _No. I'm going to do what I know is right._   
"You stupid idiot! Get out of the car now, or this'll be a four-hour practice!"   
"No. I'm not getting out."   
"Oh, yes, you are!" He then smashed the right window with his elbow and unlocked the door, grabbing me by the hair. "You don't ever disobey me, understand!?"   
Fortunately, Coach Simpkins could see what was going on and immediately ran up to us. "Let go of him, now!" he yelled as he pulled my father off me.   
I fell to the ground trying to catch my breath as Coach restrained my father. _Thanks, Coach. You're a lifesaver._   
Coach had Dad by the shirt and yelled, "What's the matter with you!? That's your son, not a tackling dummy! How dare you treat him this way!"   
"Why did you call off practice, weakling?" he muttered angrily. "I want my son to be a star, and he won't be without the practice!"   
"I called it off because almost every player has a lot of homework to do this evening. You know the rules about maintaining the C average to stay involved in sports. Besides, doesn't Josh have an important grammar test the day of the game?"   
"Like that's important. Football is what matters, and he doesn't need that ridiculous test!"   
"Oh, no? Maybe I need to tell you that it counts for ten percent of the grade for the semester. If Josh doesn't pass the test, he'll be off the team, and we need him. I want him to concentrate on his studies. Practice will be limited to one hour tomorrow to allow those who have homework to do it. I am very stringent about their grades, and I am going to make certain they all graduate from Hawkinsdale High. If you don't like it, that's too bad because the majority of parents love the idea."   
"Then the whole team is weak!"   
"Says you, Mr. Mitchell. Now, you stay right here for a few minutes to cool off while I check on your son."   
He then came up to me. "You all right, Josh?"   
"I-I think so," I replied a little weakly. "You came just in time, Coach."   
"I knew I had canceled practice, but apparently your father wasn't too happy about it."   
"I've got to get home and do that homework, especially the grammar because of Friday's test."   
Coach gave me a hand in standing up. "You have your house key, right?"   
"Yes, sir."   
"Okay. I'll take you back to your home safely. You're our star cornerback, but it won't do any good if you don't keep your grades up. I know your mother would be proud of you for keeping your priorities straight."   
"Thanks, Coach. I appreciate that."   
He then escorted me to his truck and allowed me to sit in the passenger side. "You wait here while I have one last word with your father."   
As Coach walked off to finish his conversation with Dad, I suddenly noticed some kind of strange light at the 20-yard line of the field. I couldn't tell what it was, but it shimmered brightly in contrast to the sky darkening at sunset. "What was that?" I wondered curiously.   
Coach went up to Dad again. "I'm taking Josh back to his house, and I will stay with him so you don't try anything stupid again!"   
"You will do nothing of the sort, Simpkins! He needs to be here practicing! Now get him out of the truck and on the field, or I will report you to the school board!"   
"Report me all you want. They won't listen to you. You're so blinded by the ambition of your son being a football player that everything else is oblivious to you! Ever since your wife died, that's _all_ you seem to care about, your son becoming a professional player like you were. You'd better wake up and smell the roses 'cause your son has his priorities straight and clear." He then walked to the truck and jumped into the driver's seat. "Come on, son. Let's get you home."   
As he drove off, Dad had an extremely angered look on his face. "You bring my son back here, jerk, and **_now_**! He needs to be here practicing, not at home being a sissy!"   
I was relieved to leave the football field to get home, but I couldn't stop thinking about what I had seen on the field. "Um, Coach, can I ask you what may be a silly question?"   
"Silly question? What do you mean, Josh?"   
"Do you…believe in ghosts?"   
"Actually, it's not a silly question at all. I do believe in ghosts. Why do you ask?"   
"I thought I saw one on the 20-yard line of the football field. Maybe I'm getting _too_ absorbed with studying."   
"No, it's not that, Josh. Some have said the ghost of the player who died on the field four years ago was spotted in the last few weeks. The spirit must not be satisfied with something if he wants to come to the field at the 20-yard line. I mean, people here call it a tradition, but at times I wonder."   
"I hope so, but that thing's a bit spooky for me. Looking at diagramming sentences will be a lot easier on me." 

About ten minutes later, I was safely back at my home, and Coach Simpkins entered with me. "You sure you don't mind staying with me for a little while tonight?"   
"I don't want your father hurting you again, so it's best for now that I do stay here and make sure you're all right. Besides, as long as I'm your history teacher, I'll make certain you get that homework done."   
I just smiled at him. "Thanks, Coach. You're a real friend. I just can't figure out why Dad won't let me live my life the way I want to do it."   
"I think I know the reason, but he'll never show it."   
"Well…what is it?"   
"Since your mother died, he's had a hard time dealing with that loss. He's decided to turn that grief into blind determination and desperately wants you to follow in his footsteps. Maybe he needs to get back into pro football, so some of that pressure can be taken off you."   
"Hmm, that may help some, but I don't know. I mean, I love Dad, but this…this isn't love."   
"I know, Josh," Coach said sadly while shaking his head. "It's not been easy for you. Have you had a chance to visit your mother's grave?"   
"Yeah, lots of times. I'll leave a fresh bouquet of daisies (Mom's favorite flowers were daisies) at her grave site usually on all the major holidays. At least Dad has the sense not to be so pushy around the holidays, but on Thanksgiving Day, I'm literally forced to watch the pro games from Dallas and Detroit on TV, when I would rather be watching the cartoons all day."   
"He'll never learn that you have your own life. Now, how 'bout you get to the rest of the homework?"   
"You got it, Coach," I said with a smile. I then went on to start working on the work to be ready for the next day.   
Unfortunately, I was in the middle of working on my history assignment when Dad burst into the house…with a police officer!   
"What's going on here?" Coach asked in shock.   
"That's him, Officer," said my adamant father. "He kidnapped my son!"   
I stood up to defend the coach. "That is **_not_** true! He brought me home after my father forced me to go to the practice field instead of letting me do my homework." Then, I flinched in pain.   
"Are you okay, son?" asked the officer.   
"I'm…fine." I held my back.   
The officer then asked me to pull my shirt up. He then saw all the red slash marks and became shocked, like Coach was after noticing himself.   
"My word," said an appalled Coach. "Who did this to you?"   
"It was…Dad," I answered truthfully.   
Dad became totally defiant. "He's completely lying! This coach did it!"   
**_"NO!"_** I yelled back. "Coach Simpkins wouldn't ever do something like this to me, or anyone else on the team!"   
"Whoa, hold it," said the officer, trying to stay calm. "Now, son, are you telling the truth about your father?"   
"Yes, sir, I am. I've known the coach since I was a kid. He wouldn't harm a fly."   
The officer then looked at my father. "Mr. Mitchell, you do know this constitutes child abuse. I'm afraid I'll have to take you into custody."   
Dad then went ballistic and grabbed the officer by the shirt. "It is **_not my fault_**! He did it, not me!"   
The officer then used pepper spray to get Dad off. "Looks like I can add resisting arrest to the charges as well."   
He then handcuffed my father and read him the usual Miranda rights.   
Next, the officer turned to the coach. "Sir, I know Josh is old enough to take care of himself here at the house, but would you mind staying with him?"   
"Not at all. I'll make sure he gets his homework done, and then I'll come back and pick him up in the morning to take him to school."   
"Thank you, Mr. Simpkins. Oh, and good luck at the homecoming game on Friday. I've been looking forward to it for the past two weeks."   
"Great," Coach said with a smile. "Believe me, the team will be ready against Bannister."   
The officer then took my father away while Coach Simpkins stayed with me for the remainder of the evening, which meant I could finish my homework in peace and quiet instead of loud yelling from Dad.   
About two hours later, I finished all the homework necessary, so Coach left me at home for the evening but did say he would pick me up the next morning, with Dad being in jail for the night. 

During the night, though, I had a little trouble sleeping because I couldn't get that thing I saw on the field out of my mind. "Was that really a ghost I saw tonight?" I asked myself. "Nah, maybe it's just me. There's no such thing as a ghost. I need to concentrate on getting an A on that grammar test Friday, too. After all, if something knocks me out of football for good, I'll rely on my brains to get into a good college."   
With that, I went to sleep soundly for the rest of the night, with my mind and body focused on the day ahead. 

The next morning, I basically had to make breakfast myself, since Dad was still behind bars. Luckily, I had enough skills from Home Ec class to be able to make the best omelettes around.   
After breakfast I was ready to rock and roll for school as the coach came by and picked me up.   
"You ready?" the coach asked.   
"Yeah, let's go, Coach, and…thanks again for helping me yesterday."   
"It's okay, Josh. Believe me, it's not just the physical part of preparation, it's also the mental part to be ready for Friday's game."   
"Yeah, and speaking of the mentality, I think I'm already set for that grammar test."   
"Listen, Josh, your father will come out of jail by the time you get home this afternoon. Will you be okay?"   
"Yeah, I'll be okay. It may not be easy for a while, but I'm not gonna let Dad get in the way of me being ready for that test and the game."   
"Great. Josh, I know you've got a bright future ahead of you. Don't lose sight of your dreams."   
"Coach, that's one of the reasons you're such a cool coach. You're more like a dad to all of us."   
He smiled as he parked his truck in his parking spot at school. "Okay, I'll see you on the practice field this afternoon after school."   
"You got it, Coach. See ya later."   
I got out of the truck and immediately walked to my homeroom class.   
All in all, the day was a great one, as it was just one more day from the big game.   
Practice went very well that afternoon, too, as the coach helped us work on our defense to keep Bannister's offense from doing so well Friday night.   
Just before leaving the field with Coach Simpkins, though, I saw a strange light just underneath the bleachers…at about the 20-yard line again. The first thing on my mind: Just a reflection from the shiny bleachers.   
When I got home, Dad hadn't returned yet from his night in jail, so it gave me the chance to get started on the smaller load of homework for the evening…and another opportunity to test my own culinary skills. I didn't quite do so well in making the hamburgers, as I added too much onion to it, but that was okay. As long as I could do it at all, it was fine. And, the burgers were well done. I couldn't stand any food less than well done.   
Dad finally returned home at about 9 p.m., but by then, I was already finished with all my homework and talked to Billy on the phone. "Billy, I don't know how to tell you this, but I've seen a strange light at around the 20 the last couple of days. Am I going crazy?"   
"Who knows? Maybe it's that ghost from four years ago. I've read that ghosts come around because of some sorta unfinished business in the physical world. Hey, don't worry, man. We'll be ready for tomorrow for sure!"   
"Yeah, and I can't wait for the pep rally, either. That's gonna be so cool."   
"See ya tomorrow, J-Man."   
"You got it, Billy."   
I hung up the phone and thought to the next day, as there was the grammar test, the pep rally, and of course, the **_game_**! I went to bed, knowing full well that Friday would be one of the most exciting days of my life. 

Friday was finally here, and so was Halloween! We got to wear costumes at school and show our school spirit, just as long as it didn't interfere with the classes. I couldn't wait for the pep rally in the afternoon, but I had that grammar test first. Focusing on that, I easily breezed through it and most of the day. Then, the pep rally came, and everybody at school was pumped up and psyched, including myself. Even though I was only a junior, I was the main cornerback for the defense. The seniors appreciated my patience and work ethic, treating me as though I were really a senior. I was ready to rock and roll Friday night. The biggest game of the year against Bannister, and a chance for a playoff berth.   
At 6:30 p.m., it was time for the game. I was ready with the rest of the team to blast through the banner and out onto the football field. After the public address announcer shouted for us, we tore that banner to shreds. Just about everyone at the school was there, cheering loudly as usual. I was ready to put my heart into the game, and we were going to give it our all against Bannister.   
We won the coin toss and opted to kick it to the Bears first.   
As soon as the kickoff happened, the game was under way. I knew Dad was in the stands, but I wanted to pay more attention to the game than having to hear my father. Besides, who could hear him with the loud crowd of supporters?   
It was time for the first play of the game. I took my position in front of the offensive tackle, ready to pounce Bannister's receiver.   
As soon as the ball was snapped, I dodged the offensive tackle and headed straight for the quarterback, but then I suddenly felt a helmet hitting me hard on the side of the head.   
I quickly fell to the ground at around the 20-yard line while the rest of the defense pounced on the receiver, not allowing him to gain any yards on the play.   
I wanted to get up, but for some strange reason, I couldn't feel any movement. _What's going on? How come I can't stand up? Come on, body, stand up…stand up, **now!**_   
As the refs whistled the end of the play, a player from Bannister came up to me, looking rather concerned. "Hey, buddy, you okay?"   
"I'm not sure. I…can't move. I can't get up."   
The Bannister player then yelled out, "Hey, this guy needs help!"   
Coach Simpkins heard the yelling and saw who was not moving on the field. "Oh, no…Josh!" He quickly ran out to where I was still lying. "Josh, what's wrong?"   
"I don't know. I can't feel anything. My arms, my legs, nothing."   
Up in the stands, the crowd went very quiet in a hurry. It was so quiet the chirping crickets was actually becoming louder.   
Meanwhile, my father stood up and yelled, "Get up, Josh! You've got a game to play!"   
Coach Simpkins pinched my right leg. "Can you feel that?"   
"No, I can't. I can't feel it."   
Then, the referee came along. "Is he injured?"   
"Very seriously. We need the ambulance."   
The ref signaled for the ambulance to come onto the field.   
Coach tried to keep me comforted, especially since I was about ready to panic. "Take it easy, Josh. We're gonna get you to the hospital as fast as we can, okay?"   
"H-hospital? What…about the game?"   
"Josh, there's more to life than football. You know that. Right now, you may have a very serious injury. Try not to move any, okay?"   
I smiled at him. "Thanks, Coach."   
As soon as the paramedics came along, they took my vital signs, making sure I didn't have any heart problems. Thankfully, I didn't, but they were very concerned about getting me into the ambulance.   
They were able to place my neck into a brace and carefully get me onto the stretcher. I was cautiously placed into the ambulance, but not before I saw that strange light again, at about the 20-yard line. The crowd applauded me being able to get off the field, but I was still unable to move, making everyone concerned, especially my dad.   
"I'm going to the hospital to see he'll be back on the field before the end of the game." He then ran off to the Saab to drive to the hospital. 

About 15 minutes later, I was in the emergency x-ray room of the hospital. The doctors wanted to check exactly what happened. I gotta tell you, these doctors were among the best in Hawkinsdale—no, make that the best in the state.   
My mind was still feeling foggy, but then I saw that light again. This time, though, the light had a face. _You're lucky to be alive, pal,_ I heard the light say in my head. _I didn't live after what happened to me._   
I thought one of the doctors said that, but none of the voices matched what I had heard. I thought for sure it was just the impact of the injury I had received.   
My father then showed up at the hospital and wanted to find where I was. "Hey, you! Tell me where my son is!"   
"Wait, sir," said the registered nurse on duty. "What is your son's name?"   
"Josh Mitchell! Don't you people know about him?"   
"Sir, you need to calm down first. Otherwise, I won't tell you where he is."   
"Don't you dare tell me what to do!" he yelled. "If you won't help me, then I'll find him myself!" He then took off running through the hospital.   
Fortunately, the nurse called security to see if he could be slowed down. The security guard found Dad and caught him.   
The nurse told him to hold him long enough to give him a sedative to calm down. She quickly administered the medicine, and the effects came on almost immediately. "Take him to the waiting room, please. He can sleep there."   
The guard placed Dad in a chair where he could sleep the remainder of the night.   
As for me, I still had absolutely no idea what to expect. 

Finally, morning came along, and I still had no idea what was happening to me.   
One of the doctors entered the room to check up on me. "Good morning, Josh. How are you feeling?"   
"Well, I'm not feeling anything below my neck. How come?"   
"Um, Josh, where's your father?"   
"I don't know. I haven't seen him since, um…what day is this?"   
"It's Saturday morning."   
"Who won the game last night?"   
"Hawkinsdale won it on the field goal."   
Another doctor was roaming the hallway when the nurse on duty came up to him. "Excuse me, Doctor. Josh Mitchell's father is in the waiting room. I had to sedate him last night when he went crazy trying to find his son."   
"Oh, really? Thank you, Nurse."   
He went to the waiting room and found Dad just waking up. "Sir? Are you looking for your son Josh?"   
"Y-yes, I am," he responded groggily. "Where is he?"   
"I'll take you to him, okay?"   
"Thank you." Dad actually obeyed someone for a change and followed the doctor to the room where I lay resting.   
When Dad entered the room, he noticed the sun coming out. "What the—? It's already morning? We missed the rest of the game!" He then saw me on the bed. "Josh, why aren't you up right now!? You were supposed to play the game last night!"   
Doctor Richard Stansbury, the doctor in charge of my care, looked at Dad and said, "I waited for you to be here, Mr. Mitchell. The reason your son can't get up and out of bed is…Josh is _paralyzed_. His C-7 vertebrate bone was broken, and his spinal cord suffered severe injury. From the neck down, he's unable to do anything."   
"You're lying! My son is supposed to be a football star! He can't be paralyzed! He was supposed to be in the game last night!" He then turned to me and said, "Get up, now! Prove how wrong he is!"   
"I…I can't. Dad, Dr. Stansbury's telling the truth."   
**_"NOO!"_** Dad yelled angrily. "You will get up from the bed now! You'll say anything to get out of playing football!"   
Dr. Stansbury didn't like Dad's attitude. "Mr. Mitchell, you can't force him to get up now. Doing so will cause further injury and permanent paralysis."   
Dad grabbed the doctor's jacket. "Shut up, you miserable doctor! He's going to leave the hospital now to come home with me."   
"No, he's not. Josh needs to stay here for a few days. It's the only way to keep this from getting worse."   
"You will not tell me what to do, idiot!"   
I knew Dad was going too far again, so I called out to the intercom. "Need help, need help!"   
Soon, two security guards burst in and restrained Dad.   
"Get him out of this hospital right now," the doctor said. "He's too dangerous to be near his son right now."   
The guards escorted him out of the building, leaving Dr. Stansbury and me alone in the room.   
"Um, Doc, is there a chance I can play football again?"   
"Son, I'll be honest with you. You may not be able to _walk_ again, let alone play football. By the severity of this injury, you've only got an 8% chance to ever walk again."   
My eyes widened in fear. _I won't walk again? Oh, no. Now I'll be a loser in life, and worse, my father will label me a complete loser because I can't play football ever again._


	2. Part 2

Terror at the 20-Yard Line   
Part 2

Man, I can't believe I was stuck in the hospital for over a week. Of course, my whole life turned upside down in a matter of seconds. I was playing the homecoming football game and then, I found myself totally unable to move. I had never been more frightened than the moment I learned I may never walk again.   
I was already picturing the headline for the local paper: _Star Cornerback Receives Paralyzing Injury._ And to make matters worse, what would Dad think of me? I couldn't fulfill the destiny he wanted me to go for, being the star football player. Dad was furious I couldn't get up, but more furious after learning about my paralysis.   
Luckily, Dr. Stansbury was there to make sure nothing else could happen to me. The day before I got to go home, he explained to me that even though there was just that 8% chance of walking again, there had been people courageous enough to literally defy those odds. They were able to walk again, and even though they could never play football again, they were just blessed enough to be able to stand up and walk, period.   
He planned to outfit me with a special wheelchair, so I could at least get the mobility to move about school. I mean, since the passing of that People with Disabilities Act, Hawkinsdale High was one of the first schools to make the area easily accessible by wheelchair, crutches, and the like.   
My only concerns were that my friends wouldn't like me anymore because I could no longer play the game. Plus, there was the strange light at around the 20-yard line along with the voice I heard in my head. The biggest worry, no question, was Dad. Knowing I could no longer play football, my—I mean, his—dream was crushed. I would never get the chance to play in the pros, and all that money was literally lost after that one play.   
When I got into the wheelchair, I actually found it very comfortable. It wasn't one of those standard wheelchairs; it was more of the electronic type, where I didn't have to make someone push me to where I needed to go. That was cool. Despite the very limited use of my arms, I was able to use the joystick rather easily. Dr. Stansbury just said, "Think of it as being a character in a video game. You just won't be able to do all those fancy moves, that's all."   
I laughed about it, because he was right. I did like to play video games ever so often, but now I wondered if I could ever live that normal life again.   
I sat in his office the afternoon before I was to go home. "So, what can I do now, Doc? I won't be able to walk again."   
"Don't lose hope, Josh. Remember, miracles can happen. Now, we do have a special treatment where with physical therapy and shock stimulation, you may be able to beat the odds. There's just one catch, though."   
"Um, what is it?"   
The doctor put his face down. "We have to get your father's permission for the treatment."   
My eyes widened in shock. "No…Dad has to approve it?"   
"Yes. You're not at the legal age yet, that's why."   
"I forgot, I'm only 17 right now. My birthday won't come until next summer. I know Dad won't go for it."   
"Maybe if I show him what we can do here, maybe he can change his mind. Would you like to see it also?"   
I thought it over and said, "Sure, why not. Maybe it can be a bit encouraging for me."   
Later on, Dr. Stansbury went by my house to see my father. "Mr. Mitchell, would you like to come to the hospital and see if you want your son to take on therapy to possibly get him to walk again?"   
"Get him to _walk!?_" he yelled. "As long as my son can't play football, why bother? It's just gonna be a waste of time."   
"Sir, I know you mean well, but right now your son is only thinking about the chance to walk again. He knows that's more important than football."   
Dad became very enraged by that. "There is _nothing_ more important than football! As long as he's unable to play, I don't even want to call him my son."   
The doctor stared at Dad with very cold eyes. "How can you say that about your son?" he asked with a low and angry tone. "He's been a successful football player with the team, but the most important thing for him now is to be able to stand up and walk again. He has his priorities in order. Now, unless we get your permission, we can't go through with the treatment."   
"Then you can stuff it! I will not let my poor excuse of a son get that therapy unless he can play football again!"   
Dr. Stansbury turned away for a minute to think. _Mr. Mitchell is completely blind. He won't understand his son's purpose. Football is not the only means to live. Josh knows that, but his father won't even touch on the subject. I am a doctor, and I have to be truthful. However, in a case like this, my only chance to get him to agree is to lie and say Josh may have another shot at football. I have no other choice. I am risking my license, but for Josh's sake, it's the only way to solve this._   
He then faced Dad again. "Mr. Mitchell, this therapy will assure that your son will be able to play football again by next year, I promise."   
Dad's eyes lit up. "You can do it, for real? Wonderful! I want to see what this therapy looks like."   
"Very well. Come with me to the hospital, and I'll show you what we'll do."   
As Dad passed by the football field, he noticed a strange light at about the 20-yard line.   
Whatever was there seemed to be shaking the top part left and right, like it was shaking a head.   
"Nah, it's nothing. I shouldn't worry. I need to think more about my son's future as a professional football player."   
When Dad and the doc arrived, I was waiting for them.   
Dad noticed me in the wheelchair. "Ugh. My son, reduced to being a cripple, at least just for now anyway. By next year, he'll be back on the field again."   
I looked at him with confusion. "What are you talking about?"   
Dr. Stansbury intervened. "Um, Mr. Mitchell, I need to talk with Josh about something right now. Can you give us a minute?"   
"Sure, go ahead. I can't wait to be able to see my son be the star again."   
When he took me to the side, he whispered, "Josh, listen to me. I had to trick your father into coming here by telling him you may be able to play football again by next year."   
"Why did you do that for? I _don't want_ to play football anymore."   
"I know you don't, but it's the only way I can get your father's approval of the your treatment. If you wait too long, the condition will worsen. That 8% chance will drop to zero in about a month or two."   
"That serious?" I wasn't sure what to do because Dr. Stansbury lied to Dad. Under the existing circumstances, though, maybe it was in the best interest. If I didn't get that treatment, walking would never be a part of my life again. "Okay, I'll play along with you. Maybe it'll get Dad to listen to me for a change."   
"Okay. I'll show you and your father what we'll do." The doc then brought me back to Dad. "Let's take a look at what we intend to do for your son, Mr. Mitchell."   
"Very well. Come with me."   
When we came to the area of the hospital for treating spinal cord injuries, I was in awe. It looked almost exactly like the football training room at school. "Man, this is cool," I said excitedly. "It's like I'm in training again."   
"Right, Josh," Dr. Stansbury noted. "Except in this case, the training will be to get you back on your feet and…onto the playing field again."   
"Yeah, I can't wait." I acted excited, but only to fool Dad into granting permission into letting me go through with the therapy.   
Dad's eyes lit up like Christmas. "Dr. Stansbury, you've gotten me convinced. I'll let you go through with the treatment."   
"Very well. Come into my office and I'll set up the paperwork. Josh, why don't you stay here awhile and look around?"   
"Sure thing, Doc. I like this place." I really meant it, too. There were exercise bicycles, a spot where I could take slow and steady steps, and the like. This gave me hope. It was just what I needed to hopefully be back on my feet again. Of course, I knew it was gonna be hard when I would have to tell Dad I didn't want to play anymore.   
One of the nurses came up to me. "So, you're the latest victim of spinal cord injury."   
"Yeah, I guess I am. Is it true that people can walk again, even after getting a pretty bad injury like this?"   
"It depends on how physically fit you are, how mentally prepared you are, since we won't go easy on you, and the most important thing of all: sheer determination. If you want it bad enough, you'll have to work for it."   
I nodded my head. "I like it already. It sounds like getting ready for a game."   
"Right. So, when will you start the treatment?"   
"If Dad signs those papers, I'll start as early as next week. I don't mind the tough treatment, either. I'm used to that from Dad already."   
I then turned my eyes to face out the window. I suddenly noticed a light not too far away. "What is that?" I whispered. "It's like he's staying with me or something."   
The top part of the light moved in a vertical motion, seemingly agreeing with me or something.   
In the doctor's office, Dad looked over all the papers. "There's no chance for something to go wrong, is there?"   
"No. The success rate here is 97%. Believe me, nothing can go wrong."   
"Wonderful." Dad signed the contract, making it official. "There. Now, when will you start?"   
"Next week. We want Josh to get used to the wheelchair for about a week, and then we'll get to it. In the meantime, I'll see to it insurance covers everything for him."   
"Excellent. It'll be nice to see my son make me proud on the field again."   
Dad then came by to take me home. "Come on, son. Let's get you home so you can get used to things."   
"Wait a sec, what about the house? I can't get in with the wheelchair."   
Dr. Stansbury walked up and said, "We'll set you up with a ramp so you'll have easy access to the house."   
"And I'll take your things from your room on the second floor and move them to the first," Dad added.   
_I can't believe Dr. Stansbury pulled it off,_ I thought. _Dad actually thinks I'll be playing football again. Oh, well, I can't wait to start the therapy next week._   
We got outside and noticed a new van. "What is this?" I asked curiously.   
Dr. Stansbury laughed and answered, "This is a special van. It's been equipped with a special elevator to get you in and out while in your wheelchair. What do you think?"   
"I like it already," I said.   
"Well I don't," Dad said. "I'd rather take him in the Saab."   
"Mr. Mitchell, the Saab isn't fit to the specifications. You have to use the van to get him everywhere."   
"Fine, whatever. Just hand me the keys."   
Dad opened the van and used the elevator to get me into the vehicle.   
As he drove off, Dad said, "I don't think this van or the ramp for the home are going to be necessary, but it's doctor's orders, so I'll go along with it until you don't need that stupid-looking wheelchair anymore."   
I considered saying something to Dad, but I left it be because I had to keep him thinking I was going to play football next year.   
When we got home, the rest of the football team and the cheerleaders were already at the house with a "Welcome Home" banner. "I don't believe it," I said in awe. "They didn't forget about me at all!"   
After I exited from the van via the elevator, I rolled up to my fellow teammates. "You guys…you didn't have to do this for me."   
"Yeah, we did," said Billy. "You've been on our minds since that accident last week on the field."   
"Aw, thanks everybody. That was thoughtful of you all."   
Coach Simpkins then walked up to me with a smile. "Hey, Josh. How are you feeling?"   
"Okay, I guess. At least I get to use this way-cool wheelchair like I'm in a video game. The doctor said he'll start my therapy as of next week."   
"Terrific. I know you want a chance to walk again. Oh, and guess what? Coach Jones from Bannister's here, too."   
"Really?"   
The coach of the rival team paced to me with a sober look on his face. "Josh, I want to apologize for what happened to you last Friday night. I hope you're not—"   
I shook my head. "Coach Jones, I'm not upset with you in the least. It was a legitimate play, and it was an accident."   
When Dad heard about Bannister's coach being there, he went into a rage and jumped on the coach, forcing both to fall to the ground. "Accident my foot! You purposely sent the player on my son so he could never play again! I oughtta finish you off!"   
Simpkins pulled Dad off Coach Jones. "Stop it, Mr. Mitchell. It really was an accident."   
"He's right," Billy defended. "The play was legal."   
"Shut up, Wilder!" Dad yelled. "Where's that player? I'll take care of him, too!"   
"I said _stop it_, now!" Simpkins said. "What is your problem?"   
"My son is supposed to follow in my footsteps, and that stupid Bannister player has destroyed that dream!"   
"Dad, just quit it!" I yelled angrily. "I will choose the way I live my life! You want to know something? Dr. Stansbury and I _tricked_ you into thinking I was going to play next season, but I won't be. Even if I do walk again, I can't ever play football again! Maybe it's better off for me, because football is _not_ my sole purpose in life."   
When I told him the truth, Dad became super-furious. "You _lied_ to me, your own father!? How dare you do this to me! You are supposed to be the best football player since my days!" He then got loose from Coach and went at me. "I'll make you pay for doing this to me!"   
Fortunately, two of the linebackers were able to tackle him down before he reached my throat.   
I was so lucky that most of the team and the cheerleaders were also among my closest friends. "Whew, thanks, guys."   
"No problem," said Jeremy Barlow, the state's top linebacker. "You're going through enough right now. As far as we're concerned, you'll always be a member of the team, no matter what."   
"That's right," agreed varsity cheerleading captain Sandra Carter. "We're just happy to see you back, even if it's not on your two feet right now."   
I felt so good because I was surrounded by friends…true friends. "Thanks, everybody. I'll be back in school on Monday, that's a promise."   
Everybody cheered me on about that idea, everybody _except_ Dad, that is. He got up and growled as angrily as a grizzly bear.   
Meanwhile, behind the bushes of my house, the light was there again, watching me. What did it want with me, though?   
I didn't know what to think because I had my angry father and this weird light. Was the light wanting to help me or hurt me? I just wasn't sure of myself. 

A few hours later, after supper, Dad and I were in the house. As I had fun rolling around the floor in my wheelchair, my father sat in the recliner _pretending_ to read the newspaper. In reality he was sulking badly because I was surrounded by people who liked me for being me, not being the star football player. On the other hand, Dad was determined not to let Dr. Stansbury get away with lying to him.   
"That stupid doctor's gonna pay!" He then busted the door open and got to the special van. Taking off in a screech, he basically left me alone in the house.   
I opted to take advantage of Dad's anger and got out of the house myself to think. It's a good thing I had the spare house keys, or someone would have easily broken in.   
I wheeled my way around town, and people stood up and clapped, as though I was someone special. I heard people yelling, "You're the best, Josh," along with things about being blessed, standing tall, and having courage. All those words really moved me because they understood me for being me.   
Going to the football field, I started putting my face down because that field was where I had lost my ability to walk. I decided to come to the exact spot where the hit occurred. "Why bother? Dad's probably trying to stop Dr. Stansbury and tear up the paperwork. Then, he gets a clear shot at labeling me a…complete loser."   
"Don't bet on that, pal," said a voice literally out of nowhere.   
"That voice…I know I've heard it before, but where?"   
"You probably heard me in the hospital the night you were paralyzed."   
Then, before my own eyes, I saw that weird light coming towards me. I was starting to get really scared at this point. "Who—who are you? What do you want with me!?"   
Soon enough, the strange light finally came up to me and materialized into what look liked a person, but I could see right through it. It looked like he had the number 68 on his jersey. "Wait a minute…number 68? You…you're the one who—"   
"Died on the football field?" he said. "That's me, all right. Name's Jamal Wilkinson."   
"I know who you are—I mean, were. You were one of the best wide receivers in the state when you…you know."   
"Yeah. Just like you, the play was legit. And, like you, the play was at the 20-yard line."   
"Wow, I never thought I'd see you. Um, no offense, but, why are you here? Most ghosts have some kind of unfinished business or something, right?"   
"Yeah, and mine has to do with both _your_ father and _my_ father."   
"Your father? What do you mean?" I was getting very curious about this story, because it almost mirrored what I was going through myself.   
"It's like this. My father is also a former pro player."   
"Wait…I know who he is! That's Rodney Wilkinson, who went by the nickname 'The Rod.' Am I right?"   
"Yeah, exactly. My dad was so determined to make me follow in his footsteps, like what your father's done for the past few years, right?"   
I nodded in agreement. "Right. I know Dad means well, but I just don't know what to do to make him understand me."   
"That was the same way between my dad and me, until that fateful play on the football field. I found a hole in the defense and tried to make a run for it, but then someone gave me a side shot, just like what you had."   
"What…what happened?"   
"That shot severed my jugular vein, and I lost so much blood. When I got to the hospital, it was too late for me. I knew Dad was devastated I died. He finally realized he had gone way too far in trying to make me achieve _his_ dreams instead of letting me decide for myself. Now, it's happened to you, too. A young man with a promising future, cut short by a spinal cord injury."   
"Maybe so, Jamal, but I have a chance to walk again. An 8% chance is better than nothing."   
"Do you really stand a chance, though?"   
"I do if I don't quit on myself. In the meantime, though, I hope Dr. Stansbury is gonna be all right." 

My father wasted no time in finding the doctor-on-call, Dr. Stansbury. "You stupid liar! You said my son would be able to play again, but he told me you and he lied to me about it!" He then grabbed the doctor's shirt. "What do you have to say for yourself!?"   
"What I have to say, Mr. Mitchell," started the doctor, trying to respond, "is that you are a completely selfish father! You only want your son to play football, no matter how severe his injury is! He stands with an 8% chance of ever being able to walk again, and all you can think about is his career as a pro football superstar or something!"   
"That's what he wants to be—"   
"No, that's what you want him to be. You won't allow him to decide for himself what his dreams and ambitions are. Every child has the right to dream."   
"Maybe, but his destiny is clear…being the number one draft pick after two years of college! Now, where's that paperwork? I want it _now!_"   
"Fat chance. It's already been processed, and Josh will start next week, whether you like it or not."   
"Then I'll send you to the medical board to revoke your license!"   
"I already talked to the board. They said considering your record with your son, it was perfectly justified to lie to you about Josh being able to play football again. Josh is looking forward to starting next week here."   
"Over my dead body, Stansbury!" Dad yelled. "You're nothing more than a first class jerk! You're as much a loser as my son is!"   
After he finally let go of the doc, Dad stormed out of the hospital and headed home.   
When he did get home, though, he discovered I was gone. "Josh! Where the heck are you!?" He ran outside the house. **_"JOSH!"_**   
Next, Dad ran out to the van and started driving around like he had a grudge against everyone he saw. "Get out of my way! Where's my son!?"   
At the field, I was still talking to the ghost. "What happened to your mother?"   
"She and Dad divorced when I was a kid because she didn't like the fact he was trying to push me into playing football. A couple of years later, she…committed suicide because everyone kept associating her as 'the ex-wife of the Rod.'"   
"I'm so sorry," I said sadly. "Your family life was shattered badly because of football?"   
"Yeah. I want to help you get your father to understand football is a great game, but _not_ a way of life. That's why I'm here, the unfinished business."   
"I gotcha. I want to watch cartoons on Thanksgiving, but Dad forces me to watch the games from Detroit and Dallas. It's too much for me. He even gets on my case because he doesn't think homework is as important as football. Sorry, but if I want a beeline for valedictorian next year, I have to keep my grades up."   
"I wanted to do the same thing," Jamal stated, "but it was the same thing with my dad. He wanted me to play football and not even worry about grades. Problem is, most colleges won't accept a player who doesn't have good academic standings nowadays."   
"Right. System here changed to allow student athletes to maintain grades. In fact, while I can't play football anymore, maybe I can finally join some clubs. I know the Key Club's got some openings, so maybe I can get in there and do something good for others."   
Jamal wanted to say something else, but then we both heard the screeching wheels of the van.   
"Oh, no," I said, "Dad looks furious. I left the house, and he's gonna be yelling at me like a baseball umpire trying to handle a big brawl."   
Dad came up and grabbed me by the shirt, which pulled me out of my wheelchair. "You conniving monster! You and that dumb doctor think you have a chance to walk again!? I'll show you!" He then threw me to the ground. "I'll make sure you _never_ walk again so I can call you the loser you really are!" He then turned to the wheelchair. "See how you like it when you can no longer get around like the nobody you deserve to be!"   
Jamal had seen and heard enough of Dad's garbage talk. His eyes turned red with anger. "You stop that, _now!_"   
Dad was about to put his hands around my throat when he suddenly stopped. "What the—? I can't move! What's going on here!?"   
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the ghost's anger rapidly getting worse. _Wow, I never knew ghosts could be so moody, but he's really trying to help me._   
"How dare you treat your son like a doll!" yelled Jamal. Giving Dad an intense stare, the ghost moved Dad up into the air.   
"Who—who are you!?" Dad yelled with growing fear.   
"I am Jamal Wilkinson. You remember my father, Rodney Wilkinson?"   
"The Rod," he whispered. "No, it couldn't be you. You…you died on the football field four years ago! How can this be possible? It must be some sort of special effects trick…played by Josh's loser friends!"   
"Oh, I assure, you, Mr. Mitchell, this is _no_ trick. I really am a ghost, and I have come to protect your son from the likes of you!" His rage intensified on Dad. "Your son is not you, and I hope he'll _never_ become anything like you! You're no man…you're a monster!"   
As Dad went higher into the sky and started moving around, he really became scared. "No, stop!"   
"I won't rest in peace until you recognize your son's needs in his own life! I came back from the grave to help Josh Mitchell, and I will keep my word until he's able to walk again! Only when you do will I leave you alone! Oh, and don't even try to fake your way through it, either. We ghosts have a knack for knowing if you're being true or not."   
Me, I was on the ground, suddenly finding myself gasping for air. "I…can't…breathe! Need…help…fast."   
Luckily, someone who kept maintenance of the football field heard me screaming and went to the phone to call for an ambulance. "Hurry, it's Josh! His father pulled him out of the wheelchair!"   
Jamal knew I needed help and was grateful someone did call the emergency. "I'm gonna go for now, Mr. Mitchell, but you can bet I'll be back again, making sure you _don't_ harm Josh or anyone else again!" He then vanished without a trace.   
Dad fell to the earth after being airborne for about 10 minutes and 10 feet in the air. Boy, that must have hurt when he landed on his butt. Too bad I couldn't laugh at the time.   
Despite having the pain, he came up to me and actually started kicking me! "You loser! That good-for-nothing spirit is not going to help you!"   
Breathing was getting harder for me, but I soon saw the paramedics arrive and rushing to my aid.   
One of the paramedics had to pull my father off me. "What are you doing!? You kick a man when he's down? You stay out of the way, Mister!"   
Dad struggled to break free from the grip. "I'll do whatever I want to my son! He's nothing more than a cheater, a liar, and a _loser!_ I'll make sure he never walks again!"   
"Buddy, I hate to do this to you, but…" The paramedic injected a sedative drug with a needle. "This should keep you out for a while."   
Dad instantly felt the effects of the drug and fell asleep almost immediately.   
When the paramedic then got to me, he became very concerned. "Good Lord, it's Josh Mitchell! He can't breathe!"   
They did everything to get me straightened out and back to the hospital to run tests on me to make sure my life wasn't in any further danger from my father.   
A few minutes later, at the hospital, Dr. Stansbury ran the emergency tests and was able to stabilize my condition back to normal, well, for a paraplegic.   
I soon awakened in my hospital room again, with the doctor standing in front of me. "What…what happened?"   
"Your father was kicking you around at the football field, so we had to get you back here and make sure you were all right. Your vital signs have returned to normal. You're also very fortunate there was very little damage inflicted by your father's kicking."   
"Do…do I still have that 8% chance to walk again?"   
"Yes, you do. I promise, we'll start your treatment next week, no questions asked and no interference from your father. He's gone completely out of control because he feels his dreams for you were destroyed by what happened on the field last Friday night. You're very easy and outgoing, willing to try to get your life back. As for your father, I just wish I knew what to do."   
_Don't worry,_ I thought, _I've got someone watching over me…someone determined not to let me suffer the same way he did when he was alive._   
"I hate to do this, but I'm going to have to report your father to the authorities. He must learn his lesson now, or your chances of walking again will disappear."   
"Well, what can I do, Doc? I may not be able to go home now."   
"Hmm, perhaps you should stay with someone else while you're getting better. Do you know anyone who would be able to handle a house guest for say, at least six months?"   
"Perhaps Billy Wilder and his family can take me in. After all, Billy and I have known each other since we were kids."   
"I'll call and see if I can make arrangements." He left the room to make the telephone call.   
I was thinking about sleeping for a while when I saw Jamal's ghost appear to my right. "Hey, what are you doing here?"   
"Just wanted to check on you, pal," he said. "Besides, your dad's still out from that drug."   
"You mean, he's still on the field?"   
"Yeah, and he should be getting picked up by the cops right about…now." 

Sure enough, Dad was just awakening when he found himself surrounded by the police officers.   
"Okay, Mr. Mitchell, you're under arrest for child abuse," said one of the officers. "How could you hurt your son when he's been paralyzed!? You don't care about anything but yourself."   
"Who—who called you?"   
"The maintenance man who keeps the field clean. He saw you kicking your son and immediately called for paramedics and the police." The officer then read Dad his rights, handcuffed him again, and took him to jail for the second time in over a week.   
Dad had only one thought in mind. _Wherever Josh is right now, I'll do whatever it takes to find him, along with everyone responsible for destroying his destiny._

Back in the hospital, Jamal vanished as Dr. Stansbury came back into the room. "Josh, I have two pieces of good news for you. First, your father's been taken into custody again. Second, Billy and his family would love to welcome you as their house guest while you're undergoing your therapy. Sound good?"   
"You bet it does!" I said excitedly. "How can I thank you, Doc?"   
"You don't have to, Josh. Just seeing you're going to be safe through all this is all the thanks I need. Now, I want to keep you here overnight for observation, but tomorrow, you'll go home with Billy and his family."   
"Wonderful, Doc. I can't wait."   
"Sleep well, Josh. Take care of yourself tonight."   
"I will. Good night, Doc."   
I then went to sleep, knowing I would have to change surroundings for some time. It was going to be worth it, though, since I didn't have to hear Dad getting on my case at every possible turn. 

The next morning came, and after I was checked out to make certain my condition was still stable, the doctors sent me home with Billy and his family. It was a lucky thing their home was just one story, as opposed to the two stories of my house.   
Billy said I could have his older sister's room as my room for the time being. Maggie was already in her sophomore year of college at the time and had her own dorm room. I liked it, since there wasn't an all-pink scheme like I thought there would be. In fact, Maggie was very much a tomboy, which made the transition that much easier for me.   
"Billy, are you sure this is okay?"   
"Man, you've suffered too much because of your dad. We're gonna make sure you stay safe. That's a promise."   
"Thanks, Billy. You and your family are true lifesavers to me."   
"No probs. In fact, Mom and Dad get to escort us to school. We still have our van, which can be used to help you with the wheelchair."   
"Great, B-Man. Least I'll be able to get to school on Monday."   
"Right. Now, let's have lunch. I know you're starving for some real food."   
"Got that right, bro. Let's eat."   
In no time, I felt like I was a member to a loving family, as opposed to my father's methods of raising a child.   
Of course, through it all, I was gonna have some struggles, like therapy from the beginning, and constant reminders of the failure I had become in Dad's eyes.   
Wait until you see what happened when I started that special therapy for Dr. Stansbury, because it was going to be a heck of a personal trial for Jamal, Dad, and me. 


	3. Part 3

Terror at the 20-Yard Line   
The Conclusion!

The week I started that special therapy to try to get me to walk again, I knew immediately that the process would be painful and tedious, but there was that old expression "no pain, no gain." I wanted to be able to get on my feet so badly. If it took a lot of pain to do it, that was okay with me.   
It started with what was supposed to be basic exercises, but oh, brother, they were anything but easy. I had never felt that much pain in all my life, not even when getting some good shots by the defenses of other teams. I was going through a difficult time in pulling this off, but I knew one day it was going to be worth it. The only question was how soon that was going to be. Would it be months…or years? It didn't matter to me. I would keep going as long as I needed to be able to just stand up at all.   
I went into a special room where they would induce shock into my spinal cord in order to stimulate the areas from my chest down. Now, I couldn't quite understand all those electrical terms, so I'm just gonna put it in English as best I can. What they did was stick something at the top of my back. The clip was supposed to then be able to send some kind of shock waves into the spinal cord area. The idea was to see if I had reflexive actions as a result, like when the doctor hits that special hammer against the knee.   
There wasn't any action for at least the first month, but Dr. Stansbury said that was very common in situations like these. I just needed to have patience.   
Speaking of patience, Billy and his family had been very gracious in allowing me to stay at their home for the remainder of the school year. They treated me like I was a member of their family, which made me feel good about myself. I knew the love of my friends and adopted family was good emotional therapy, as it wasn't just the physical scars I had to deal with. All the mental scars I had with my father's painful words for the last few years were still present. Whenever I felt down, I knew I could talk to Billy about it. His parents were very encouraging, allowing me to work on my homework and letting me watch what I liked on the television. I didn't have to watch tapes of football plays or anything relating to football.   
As for my father, he was still in jail and would stay there for 30 days until his hearing with the court. He was determined to do whatever it took to get out and find me. Dad's criminal record had been growing for quite some time, especially in terms of his attitude towards me when it came time for the hearing itself.   
When the 30 days had passed, I was required to show up for the hearing, which had me very worried. Dr. Stansbury, though, said he would join me at the courthouse to make sure Dad wouldn't try anything on me again. Also, I couldn't figure out why, but Jamal—I mean, his ghost—was still around me to see I was okay. I had all this support on my side, but I was worried Dad wouldn't take it so well.   
On the day of the hearing, I showed up in wheelchair with the doctor and Billy with his family.   
The judge looked at me with some compassion. "Young man, it took a lot of courage for you to show up here today. How is your therapy going?"   
"Slow, but steady," I told straight forward. "I mean, it's not gonna happen overnight, but I'll be able to walk again somehow."   
The moment Dad came out and saw me, he wanted to lunge at me so badly. "You pathetic excuse! You'll pay for putting me in jail! _I am your father!_"   
_Who does he think he is…Darth Vader?_ I thought with annoyance. _Honestly, he'll never change. I only wish Mom were still around to help me._   
_ Your mom is with you,_ spoke the voice of the ghost. _She knows what's going on, and she stands behind you._   
"Mr. Mitchell," the judge harshly said, "you will sit down and compose yourself. I will have no outbursts in this courtroom from you, understand?"   
He took his seat and growled at me. "You'll be coming home with me, you little punk."   
I kept looking straight ahead to ignore him.   
As the hearing was under way, I was called to testify against Dad, which is something I was nervous about doing. For my own health, though, there was no other choice.   
Because I was in a wheelchair, I didn't have to exactly "get up on the stand." I just rolled to a spot in front of the stand. I was then given the oath of truth, or whatever it's called.   
"Young man," said the prosecutor, "please tell us about your relationship with your father."   
"Well…it hasn't exactly been the best relationship. When Mom was alive, things were going pretty well, even with Dad's career. He always made time to be with us in the off-season, and we were able to have a normal family life. When Mom died of cancer, though, Dad suddenly went from loving father to dictator. He has been so determined to _make_ me play football for my entire life. Me, though, I have some different dreams in life. I would like to get more into sports medicine, be able to help with injured players. I want to help others overcome their own serious sports-related injuries."   
Dad looked at me angrily. _What a wimp!_ he thought with such mean attitude. _His destiny is on the field, not as a sissy doctor! He will come home with me as of today!_   
The prosecutor then asked, "When you were…injured the night of the homecoming game, how did your father react?"   
"He literally went through the roof about it. My—I mean, his—dreams were shattered. He was so angry because I destroyed what would have been the…perfect life: a college scholarship, two years in school, and a chance for the pros. I like to play football, but I don't want to do it for my entire life. I know I can never play football again, but all that matters to me now is the chance to walk again. I don't want to mope around and stare out the window at what might have been. I want to see the world on two feet…and I won't give up on this therapy until I _am_ on my feet."   
I didn't know it at the time, but that ghost stood outside the window and listened to what I had said that day. _ Josh, I know you can do it. Don't give in to your father's harsh words. I'll stay with you every step of the way through your therapy. I promise, my friend. You won't be alone._   
The prosecutor seemed pretty satisfied and took his seat, but now I had to face Dad's attorney.   
This guy made me feel like I was in the Spanish Inquisition or something. "Mr. Mitchell, don't you want to make a lot of money and set a nice little nest egg for yourself?"   
"I would like to make money and all, but I don't think football—"   
"Don't you understand, young man, that you could have had the life most people would only dream of?"   
"What do you mean by that?"   
"You purposely injured yourself on the field that night to destroy what was meant to be!"   
The prosecutor quickly jumped up and yelled, "Objection, your honor. The defense attorney's trying to scare this young man, and the evidence points the football injury as being an accident."   
In agreement the judge said, "Sustained." He then eyed the defense attorney. "Mr. Whitaker, I suggest you change your line of questioning because all of those things you say are absolutely _irrelevant_ in this case."   
Jamal chuckled in delight about this hearing. "Oh, boy, I can't believe Josh's dad got one dumb attorney to try to help him. He won't have his way, though."   
Dad actually had his chance to testify, but he was trying to act his way to get me back to his home. "I love my son," he said as phoney as some of the actors I had seen on television. "All I want for him is to follow his dreams and become the superstar football player he was meant to be. It would mean everything to me…and his mother's loving memory."   
The prosecutor's cross examination was able to prove otherwise, though. "Mr. Mitchell, the love for your son is as fake as your tone of voice as you spoke. All you care about is him becoming you to continue a supposed legacy. I'm sorry, Mr. Mitchell, but your all-pro status is _not_ going to help you. You have been nothing less than abusive towards your son, especially after your wife died. Your criminal record over the last few years has proven that you are _not_ a good father setting an example. It's a sad fact in this country that some parents want to push their kids so hard in the world of sports. You have forgotten to understand that your son likes to play the game for fun, but Josh knows he doesn't want to play football all his life.   
"He wants something to fall back on. The kinds of grades he's had, Josh could easily end up at a great school like Stanford or even Harvard. Josh knows he _must _maintain his grades to remain on the team at all. If he can't get into college with his feet, he can most certainly get in with his brilliant mind."   
Dad growled with anger. "A brilliant mind? That doesn't translate on the field! I want him to be back on the field by next season, and I won't let _anything_ stand in the way of it!"   
The judge slammed his gavel hard. "That's enough, Mr. Mitchell. As a judge, I have to remain arbitrary, but just this once I wish I could send you to the guillotine. I want to call recess for 15 minutes. By then, I'll have the decision as to what to do."   
Boy, did Dad get a surprise. He ended up having to spend 30 more days in jail, and pay for all the court costs.   
Even better, still, I got to stay with Billy and his family longer, which meant therapy was going to be more fun than before. Billy would come with me to the hospital for the therapy, giving me constant words of encouragement to make sure I was able to walk again. 

Less than two months later, I had feeling returning to my legs. It was the most exhilarating feeling I had in my life because it looked like I was actually going to beat the odds and be able to walk again and soon.   
The doctors were impressed with my will and drive to keep going until I could walk on my two feet once more. I managed to take more and more steps with each passing day. Even if it were only one small step, it was one step closer to achieving my goal of just being able to walk.   
Dr. Stansbury held a press conference to announce the stunning news. "I'm happy to say that Josh Mitchell has feeling in his legs again, and he's slowly starting to walk again. The walking exercises and shock therapy to stimulate his spinal cord and legs have proven more successful than we could have anticipated. The only sad part about this is…Josh won't be able to use that wheelchair anymore, and I know he's become pretty attached to it."   
The reporters laughed heartily at that comment, but the doctor was right…I was going to miss that fun wheelchair I used for about three months. My "wild wheels" were about to get replaced by the metallic crutches, which became more of a challenge. At least I'd be on my feet, though, which was content for me at that time. At least all that time I had no problems from Dad, since I was able to stay with Billy and his family.   
Incredibly, Dad managed to keep his temper in check long enough for me to be able to go home with him again. I was a little worried about it, since I had to succumb to his ways again.   
As I was slowly and steadily handled the crutches, Dad's attitude got a whole lot worse. He couldn't stand seeing me with those crutches.   
A couple of weeks after I started using the crutches, Dad would continuously pick on me and make me feel really bad about myself.   
There was one day I sure won't forget in this mess. When Billy and his family dropped me off at home, Dad immediately pulled me into the house and started screaming at me for no reason at all.   
"You good-for-nothing miserable excuse! How dare you be even be related to me! You're nothing more than a total loser, and that's all you'll ever be to me. You ruined everything because of your being paralyzed! I don't care if you ever walk again! You destroyed the dream, and I'm gonna make you pay!" He then ran up and started hitting me! "You worthless nothing! You don't _deserve_ to be my son!"   
Suddenly, Jamal's ghost appeared in the middle of the room, with an angry look on his face. "I warned you about harming him, Mr. Mitchell, but you still refuse to understand. Perhaps another trip in the air should knock some sense into you!"   
His eyes glowing in angry red again, he made Dad float up to the ceiling, forcing him to let me go.   
Dad screamed in fury. "Put me down! Who do you think you are!? You're dead!"   
"In case you forgot," said Jamal in near rage, "I still have unfinished business…with you! As a father, you're supposed to be encouraging your son to get better, but instead you put him down and hurt him with your harsh words and your hands. You should use your hands to help him, but you only care about yourself! Since you refuse to support your son after all he's been through so far, I will come to haunt you every night in your dreams, especially with all those images of times you couldn't tackle Dad, since he always scored on you."   
I was shocked. "What? Dad couldn't block 'The Rod' from scoring touchdowns?"   
"No, he couldn't. Your father was unable to block Dad from getting into the end zone."   
I looked up at him and said, "Wow, I never knew that…Dad."   
Dad snarled, "That's none of your business!"   
"As long as I'm around," the ghost said, "everything you are and everything you do to your son will be _my personal_ business!"   
"You can't do this to me!"   
"Oh, yes, I can. You can't arrest a ghost, and who's going to believe you!? Right now, _nobody_ believes anything you say, especially the phoney love you have for your son! Until you understand what your son is going through, I will never leave you alone!"   
Dad started understanding one thing: This ghost meant serious business.   
Jamal was sick and tired of seeing my father hurting me at every turn, and he was determined to get Dad to change his way of treating me. "If you don't start being more encouraging towards your son, he could end up just where I am now, as a ghost. Believe me, I'm gonna make your life a nightmare until you acknowledge your son's own dreams and ambitions. I will start haunting you and keep it up until you finally come to your senses!"   
For the first time, I actually saw Dad's eyes widened in fear. _Oh, man, Jamal's really going out of his way to protect me. Thanks, pal._   
The second the ghost disappeared, Dad fell to the floor pretty hard. He still didn't believe that ghost could really do anything. "I don't care what that…thing says. I'll find a way to _make_ him leave me alone, like I'm gonna make _you_ get back onto the field!"   
I couldn't run because of my crutches, but I made due. "Dad, I suggest you take Jamal seriously. Remember what he said about giving you nightmares. Most ghosts are capable of doing things that could scare even the most unlikely of people."   
"We'll see about that," Dad said angrily as he finally got to his feet. "Come the new school year, you'll be back on that field and playing hard again." He then stormed out of the living room.   
"That's what you think, Dad. I hope you'll live a day in my shoes and see how it _really_ feels."   
Floating outside the house, Jamal apparently heard my idea. "Hmm, live a day in his shoes…sounds like an intriguing idea. Thanks, Josh." 

Throughout the next few weeks, Jamal would haunt Dad every night with those moments where he couldn't block Rodney Wilkinson from scoring touchdowns on him. The ghost told me what kind of plays his dad would do to get past my father, and I couldn't help laughing about it.   
Believe me, it was so much fun seeing Dad wake up with a cold sweat on his face for a change. He got more and more nervous with each passing day, but he was not going to give in to the ghost's demands.   
When Spring Break came along, I was ready to go outside and chill with my friends, but Dad wanted to keep me in the house every day instead, making sure he was able to treat me like the loser he _thought_ I was.   
"Forget it, brat! You'll _never_ step out of this house with those crutches."   
"Dad, I have to get to my therapy. I'm so close to walking again I can almost feel it."   
"I don't think so, loser! I don't want you going anywhere during your week off!"   
I looked at my watch and realized I was going to be late if I didn't leave right away. "Look, Dad, I don't have time to argue! I have to go _now!_"   
Just as Dad was about to grab me again, something suddenly stopped him. He never got his hands around my throat.   
"What's stopping you, Dad? The ghost again?"   
"No, it's…the fact you're so close to walking again…and being on the field again to make me proud. Perhaps I should let you go to your therapy."   
I was pleasantly surprised by his turn of emotion. "You…mean that?"   
"Yes, I do. How much longer will you have to use the crutches?"   
"According to Dr. Stansbury, I'll be able to walk completely within the next month or so."   
"Well, in that case, go for it! Go get 'em, tiger."   
Just as Billy's family van pulled up, I said, "Thanks…Dad. That means a lot to me." I then left for the van and my therapy once again.   
What I didn't know was that Dad had something in mind as soon as I could walk again. "You're going to run for the Hawks in your senior year, Josh. And I'll see to it that _nothing_ gets in the way of you being the football star you deserve to be."   
Jamal heard everything from the outside and became really upset about Dad's plans. "Why that miserable jerk! He still thinks his son belongs on the football field! I'm gonna use Josh's idea and make his father live a day in his shoes."   
That night, as Dad was trying to sleep soundly, he was quickly awakened by the ghost's angry scream. "You again? I…I'm doing better."   
"Don't lie to me, Mr. Mitchell!" Jamal shouted. "I heard you saying you planned on getting Josh back onto the field as soon as he was able to walk again. You still don't care about what happened to your own son! I will show you how he's feeling. As of tomorrow morning, starting with the moment you awaken, you will live in your son's body for 24 hours. You'll see just what he's had to go through because of your constant verbal abuse! As for me, I'll live in your body and treat _you_ the way you have been treating your son! I can hardly wait until tomorrow morning." He then disappeared.   
Dad had a cold sweat down his back. "No, he couldn't do that. I don't believe him. He couldn't do anything like that to me." He then went back to sleep, but he was in for a big surprise when he woke up the next morning. 

Knowing he woke up at about 5:30 in the morning, Jamal went ahead with his crazy plan. "Your soul will inhabit your son's body while mine will take yours over. Hope you enjoy your day, because you'll see just what it's like to be abused."   
How Jamal managed to pull this off, I'll never know. Anyway, he made Dad's soul come out of his body and float into my own! As for Jamal, he took on Dad's body like a duckling took to the pond.   
In my room, I woke up at 5:30, which wasn't normal for me. I woke up at about 6 every morning. I felt somewhat different, but then, that was pretty normal considering the circumstances of what Jamal was doing to Dad on this day. "I feel…different." As I—I mean, Dad—tried to get out of bed, he suddenly fell to the floor, unable to move his legs very comfortably. "What's going on here?" He looked at his hands and said, "No! I don't believe it! He pulled it off! I'm in my son's body! If that's true, then…that ghost is inside of me!"   
"Dad" slammed the door open and yelled, "Get up, loser! You've got to get to therapy this morning! You said you'd be walking in the next month or so. I want you back on the field this fall, and you're not getting any closer to it by sitting on your butt!"   
"I" was having some trouble. "But, you don't understand! I can't get to the crutches."   
"Then crawl like a baby to those things! You can crawl, so just do it already! Breakfast will be ready in 20 minutes. You had better get down there by then, or you'll get the shellacking of your life!" Dad then left the room with full throttle anger.   
As for "me," I struggled desperately to reach the crutches. "If I don't get down there, he'll hurt me. I can't believe that ghost did this to me! Now I'll never be able to function!"   
I finally managed to get the crutches and got down to the first floor for breakfast, but not before "Dad" yelled at me.   
"You miserable excuse! You are _five minutes_ late! Now sit down and eat your breakfast! Billy and his mother will be picking you up in about 30 minutes, so get a move on!"   
I tried to eat as quickly as I could and then get dressed. On the inside of me, Dad was getting the feeling he wasn't going to like this one day. _No, I never got injured like this! I'll make that ghost pay for this!_   
As for Jamal, he was having more fun than he could have hoped, being inside Dad's body. _Mr. Mitchell will change his mind after today, I'm positive he will. If this doesn't work, then I may have to resort to something seriously drastic. Yuck! He drinks some strong coffee._   
I managed to eat everything on my plate and get dressed in the nick of time. "Okay, I'm ready, finally. But, what will happen to me?"   
"Don't you know!? You're going in extensive therapy today. You'll be taking some regular steps hopefully. Now, hurry it up! Billy and his mom will be here shortly!"   
The van showed up just in time as Dad quickly had to learn to use the crutches. Rushing so fast to reach the van, he accidentally tripped himself up. "Shoot! I can't get this right!"   
Billy looked very surprised at "me." "What's the matter with you, Josh? You've never tripped on those things before. What happened?"   
"Oh, um, nothing. I was just in too big a hurry this morning. I woke up late this morning." _Thanks to that stupid ghost doing this to me! I am not my son!_   
After getting dropped off at therapy, Dad hobbled badly with the crutches while meeting Dr. Stansbury.   
"Josh, you okay? Are you having some kind of side effect or something?"   
"Listen, a ghost put my soul into my son's body!"   
The doctor just laughed it off. "Oh, Josh, you and your sense of humor. Come on, we have to start with your electrophysiological treatment."   
_Electro-what? He's got to be kidding me! I'm a former pro; I don't need this!_ He dropped the crutches and tried to run away. He fell to the floor, though, as he was in serious pain at that moment. "Ahh!"   
Dr. Stansbury ran up to him. "Josh, are you trying to be brave or totally foolish? You've got to wait about another month before you can even consider trying to run again."   
"No! I can run! I'm _not_ Josh! I'm his father!"   
"Josh, I think you fell and conked yourself pretty good last night. You're acting rather delirious right now."   
"I" grabbed Dr. Stansbury by the jacket. "You idiot! I really am Jake Mitchell! That goofy ghost is inside my body right now!"   
"Security!"   
Two male interns took two tranquilizer needles and injected me with it, knocking me out cold.   
"I don't know what's come over him, but perhaps he needs some rest."   
After about an hour, "I" finally awakened. "What the…? Where am I?"   
"In intensive care," said a nurse. "You're delirious right now. You _think_ you're your father Jake."   
"But, it's true! I _am_ Jake Mitchell! My body has been taken over by a ghost!"   
Dr. Stansbury walked into the room. "Hmm, perhaps some therapy will jog his mind back to normal. After all, there is _no_ such things as ghosts. Come along, Josh, you've rested long enough. It's time to stimulate the legs first…for about an hour."   
_An hour!? He's got to be kidding!_   
In the special room, the wires were hooked up to the legs to shock them into moving by reflex. Incredibly, they reacted just fine.   
"Very good, Josh. It seems your legs are almost ready to walk again. However, I wish I could tell your father not to let you play football again to risk further injury, permanent paralysis, or even death…just like Jamal Wilkinson."   
"You…knew Jamal?"   
"Yes, I did. I was the Wilkinson's family doctor when Jamal was growing up. I was deeply heartbroken about his parents' divorce, and then his mother taking her own life. I told him he could always talk to me about anything. His father, though, wouldn't let me help him with his problems because he wanted Jamal to be a pro player, like your father's trying to make you. When that play happened four years ago, Jamal's jugular vein was ruptured. He was rushed over here, where he was pronounced dead after bleeding to death. We did everything we could to save him, but it was too late. I still feel a little guilty about what happened to him.   
"When you were paralyzed on the field, I felt a chill down my back because I thought that night would replay all over again. The fortunate thing was that you were still alive, and I had a chance to make up for not being able to help Jamal."   
Dad couldn't believe his ears. _Dr. Stansbury wanted to help Jamal, but his father was just like what I am to Josh right now._ "Um, how did Jamal's father react when he…died?"   
"Rodney was very devastated by losing his son. He learned the hard way that there was much more to life than sports. Jamal had a bright future ahead of him, but he didn't get to fulfill his own dreams because of his father's constant verbal and physical abuse. Your father is heading down the same road. How many young people have to die as a result of not allowing them to pursue their own dreams and interests?"   
"I hope…I won't be one of them. I'm sorry about earlier, Doc."   
"It's okay, Josh. Some days, patients can become disoriented and delirious because they can't walk or run. It can be very discouraging at times. We've completed the shock therapy. Now, ready for the physical therapy?"   
"I guess so."   
In that therapy, "I" struggled to take regular steps without falling down.   
The therapists were yelling as a way of encouraging "me" to go on. "Come on, Josh! You're so close now! We know you can do it!"   
Dad couldn't believe the yelling part. _This is what my son is going through every day? This much yelling? This yelling is not like mine, though. They're telling him not to give up, make him push himself harder just so he can walk again. I…I'm not sure if I want Josh to be on the football field again now. He's been through so much. His mother died of cancer, and I haven't exactly been helpful to him…forcing him to take up football. It would be nice for him to follow my footsteps, but maybe…maybe I should let Josh decide for himself what he wants to do. I shouldn't be controlling everything he does. Oh, what have I done to my own son?_   
"I" had determination in my eyes, not wanting to quit on the most important thing for me to do, which was be able to walk.   
The little steps I had for the last couple of months grew into regular steps, and the therapists were applauding the efforts.   
"At a boy, Josh!" yelled one of them. "You're almost there! About another two to three weeks and you'll be able to walk completely on your feet again!"   
_My son has compassion all around him, and they're determined not to give up on him, as long as he doesn't quit on himself. I've got to encourage him not to give up on himself. If I don't, my son will never forgive me. I've put him down so much all these years. I'm so ashamed of myself now._   
When "I" got home, "Dad" saw the look on my face. "So, how did your therapy go…Mr. Mitchell?"   
"It…opened my eyes. The therapists yell at him, but they shout words of encouragement as opposed to my demeaning words of pain. I had no idea he went through all this."   
"I'm glad you see it that way, Mr. Mitchell. Oh, and this came for your son. It's a scholarship letter…from Penn State University."   
Dad couldn't believe it. "Wait a minute. Josh is only a junior, and he already got a scholarship letter?"   
"Yes. Behind your back, your son has been applying for scholarships because of his high academic standings."   
"His own dream."   
"Right. He'll be getting a lot more in the months to come. He understands there is more to life than the game of football. Do _you_ understand it better now?"   
"Yes, I do. He wanted something to fall back on in case a pro career didn't work out for him. It's beginning to make sense to me now."   
"I'm glad. However, I wish you didn't drink such strong coffee."   
"Sorry, Jamal, it's been a habit for a long time…just like putting my son down for not concentrating on football."   
"Some habits may be hard to break, but you can stop putting your son down. Tomorrow morning you'll be back in your regular body again, and hopefully you'll have a better understanding about what your son is going through. Try going to his therapy with him, and give him some encouraging words from the heart. It'll make a huge difference for him."   
"I" smiled. "I will, Jamal, and thank you for helping me see the light."   
"You're welcome. Now, um, how about some dinner?"   
"Sure. I'm hungry."   
After dinner, they had another discussion.   
"Um, Jamal, Dr. Stansbury was the doctor who couldn't save you when you died, right?"   
"Yes, he was. Why?"   
"He's carried some of the guilt from not being able to help you that night."   
"I know. I want him to be at peace with himself. I also want my father to be at peace with himself. He's also been feeling guilty about my passing."   
"Is there anything I can do?"   
"Not sure, to be honest. I have to find a way to reach them both myself."   
"Maybe I can do something. Convincing Stansbury won't be so easy, though."   
"Lemme guess, he doesn't believe in ghosts?"   
"Most doctors don't."   
"Don't worry. I think I can get through to him and my father."   
"How can you get through to your father?"   
Jamal answered, "He visits my grave almost every day, but that's the only place he goes. He never gets out of the house for any other purpose."   
"I see. Perhaps a visit to that grave will be of help."   
"Agreed. Thanks for the suggestion, Mr. Mitchell."   
Smiling, Dad (still inside my body) said, "Glad to help for a change. I will go with my son to his therapy and start shouting encouragement instead of shame. I owe you one, my friend."   
"No, you don't. Just seeing you be able to understand your son's situation and try to be more encouraging is payment enough for me."   
Soon, both went to sleep peacefully, without a problem. 

The next morning, Dad awakened at 5:30 and looked at himself. "I'm back…I'm back! Wow, I feel better than ever!"   
I woke up a half-an-hour later and noticed Dad in a more upbeat mood as he was cooking breakfast. "Dad, are you okay?"   
He looked at me and smiled. "I'm fine, Josh. A lot better than I've ever been in my entire life."   
"You're not…yelling at me?"   
"No, son. Yesterday, I went through an experience that changed my life and the way I have been treating you. I want to apologize for all those times I've forced you into something you weren't comfortable with."   
"You…mean that?"   
"Yes, Josh, I do. Oh, and you already have a scholarship letter from Penn State."   
"Penn State!? Oh, my God! How cool! That's the college I want to go to. It has one of the best sports medicine programs in the country!"   
"It also has one of the greatest football programs out there—"   
"Dad?" I said forcibly.   
"No, son, I don't mean you have to play on the team. Joe Paterno is the legendary coach. He's been there for about 55 years."   
My eyes widened. "Wow, he's been coaching that long? That's amazing."   
"Yes." Dad then walked up to me and said, "Son, I want you to pursue your own dreams, the ones that make _you_ happy. If you still want to play football, you decide for yourself. Okay?"   
I smiled in true happiness. "Really? You'll let me pursue my ambition in sports medicine?"   
"Yes, Josh. I've made you unhappy long enough. I need to let you be your own person, not be my shadow. I became a stat about parents trying to be too forceful on their kids when it comes to sports."   
"That's true, Dad, you did. I'm glad you're starting to change."   
"It won't be that easy for me to change, but here's a starting point now. And…I want to go with you to your therapy…as encouragement. Is that okay with you?"   
"It sure is, Dad. Thanks."   
For the first time in a long time, we actually hugged each other.   
I had never felt this good in my life, and Dad's true love for me finally started to show.   
The ghost then appeared in front of both of us. "Congratulations, Mr. Mitchell. You're finally making yourself a better person. You now know Josh's therapy has made himself better not only physically but also mentally and emotionally."   
"Thanks, Jamal. Um, what about your father, though?"   
"He's on his way to my grave right now. I'm gonna go see him real quick."   
"Good luck, Jamal."   
"Thank you, Mr. Mitchell. Josh, good luck to you."   
"Thanks, man."   
The ghost disappeared from our house, and we just smiled at each other.   
"Come on, Josh," said Dad happily. "Let's go to your therapy together. I'd love to see what you do."   
"Sure." 

Meanwhile, about three miles away, at the local cemetery, Rodney Wilkinson lay flowers at his son's grave, like he had done every day for the past four years. "Hi, son."   
"Hey, Dad."   
Mr. Wilkinson gasped and suddenly turned to see an apparition. "I don't believe it…Jamal?"   
"Yeah, it's me."   
"What are you doing here?"   
"I came to Earth to help someone, a young star who was being treated badly after going down."   
"Son…was it Josh Mitchell?"   
"Yes. He needed help with his father, but now they have made amends. I wanted to come here to tell you that I forgave you after I passed on. You just wanted to do what was best for me, even though it was difficult for me."   
"You've forgiven me?"   
"Yeah. You need to forgive yourself, though. The guilt you carry is unnecessary. Please, Dad. Remember our good times together, not the moment I died. Cherish my life, don't mourn my death."   
Mr. Wilkinson had tears in his eyes. "Thank you. Thank you, Jamal."   
"You're welcome, Dad. Oh, and, um, can you tell Dr. Stansbury I forgive him, too?"   
"You bet, son. Take care of yourself."   
"We'll see each other again. My work is done here. Bye, Dad." Jamal finally disappeared, his mission completed.   
A few minutes later, Mr. Wilkinson went to see Dr. Stansbury.   
He said, "Doc, I saw my son this morning. I know you don't believe in ghosts, but he wanted me to come here and tell you he forgives you for not being able to help him that night."   
"Really?" asked the surprised doctor. "Well, I…appreciate that. Hmm, perhaps that ghost _was_ real after all. If he were, he was a catalyst for helping Josh with his therapy." 

Months later, I made it into my senior year of high school, and the first game of the season had arrived.   
Everyone at the game that night was very excited not just for the game, but also for something else.   
"Ladies and gentlemen," said the public address announcer, "he has given us encouragement and hope after suffering such a devastating injury last year. He has proven beyond doubt that anything is possible with determination and perseverance. By refusing to give up on himself, he has made it all the way back. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Hawkinsdale High's #19, Joshua Mitchell!"   
I just ran onto the field, no pads or anything, but it felt absolutely incredible just being able to walk again. I was so excited in the fact I beat the odds, no matter how high they were against me.   
Even though I couldn't play football anymore, Coach Simpkins actually gave me a special spot on the team: student assistant coach. I was able to help the incoming freshmen understand what moves they needed and everything, so that was actually nice.   
Dad became much better also, treating me with more respect and allowing me to pursue my own dreams after he spent a day inside of me. When I felt down, I was actually able to talk to him, and he would give me some encouraging words to live by. He went through some psychological therapy at his own free will, and he never got into trouble with the law ever again. He literally learned that cliché, "Try walking a mile in someone else's shoes."   
When I graduated from high school, I was named valedictorian for the class. I received a bunch of acceptance letters from different universities across the country, but I chose Penn State like I had originally planned because of their sports medicine program.   
Of course, I do go to the Penn State home games at Beaver Stadium, too, since I can still love football without being forced to play the game.   
There was another secret reason I wanted to go to Penn State University. That secret reason: A certain Penn State player named Adam Taliaferro. I heard his incredible story about his own paralysis and being able to beat odds worse than my own. During the treatment, I always took my mind back to the night he was able to run out onto the field after creating his own miracle.   
I know I'm a miracle myself, not as big as Adam's, but it's enough of a miracle to know I'm still alive and still…walking.   


  


THE END   


  


I wanted to do this story because of the story of Adam Taliaferro himself. Doctors gave him just a 3% chance to ever walk again, but he did beat the odds. When I heard the story and saw him run out onto the football field in front of the 105,000 fans in Beaver Stadium and the millions watching on TV, I was moved to tears because what he did was truly a miracle. 

I also wanted to stress another issue: Parents' treatment of their children about playing sports. Sports is supposed to be fun competition, but increasingly we hear about parents punishing their children for not performing well or parents themselves getting into fights, ruining the fun for the children. When they play a game, encourage them to do their best. If they don't do well, don't hurt their feelings. Just say, "You tried. We'll help you do better the next time." 


End file.
